


the fool

by oryx



Category: Danball Senki
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-18
Updated: 2013-07-18
Packaged: 2017-12-20 15:30:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/888862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oryx/pseuds/oryx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Possible after-effects of becoming Slave Player may include: fatigue, dizziness, and forgetting really important shit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the fool

**Author's Note:**

> hmm, seems i have a bit of a ~thing for oblivious!gouda & tsundere!sendou. sorry 'bout it B)

It’s just simple exhaustion, the doctor says, but the possible mental side-effects of brainwashing – and here he says the word like he can’t quite believe it – can’t be discounted. He should really consider staying overnight at the hospital for monitoring. Perhaps longer, depending on the results of “some rudimentary tests.”

 

Hanzou doesn’t like the sound of that.

 

“I’m fine,” he says quickly, shrugging on his shirt, and only staggers a little when he gets to his feet.

 

Mano gives him a Look when he exits the examination room. Her lips twist into a frown.

 

“If it’s about the hospital bill, don’t sweat it,” she says. “NICS has already offered to – ”

 

“It’s not about that,” he snaps. “I just… don’t want to be here. And I don’t _need_ to be here. I’m okay. Seriously.”

 

Her frown only deepens. “You sure don’t look okay, kid. You look like hell.”

 

He _feels_ like hell, bone-tired and weak, with nausea coiled tight in the pit of his stomach, but he ignores her all the same.

 

“Thanks,” he mutters. “For helping me out. I appreciate it.”

 

As he turns to walk away he sees her throw her hands up in defeat.

 

“ _Men_ ,” she sighs. “Fucking insufferable.”

 

.

 

Sendou is sitting on a bench outside the hospital, trying to look casual, but Hanzou can see the way his shoulders are slumped wearily downward. He’s pale – paler than usual, at least – and his lips are pressed together in a thin, hard line, like he’s focusing on keeping himself together. He’s no better off than the rest of them.

 

“You gave them the slip too, huh?”

 

Sendou glances up at him and something changes in his expression, closing off, his eyes going all cold and flinty.

 

“I don’t like hospitals,” he says, and looks away.

 

“Yeah, me neither,” Hanzou admits. He lowers himself down next to Sendou with a sigh. “Plus, I feel shitty enough not being able to help Ban and the others. Lying around in a hospital bed would make it infinitely shittier.”

 

Sendou says nothing. Strange. Maybe he’s even worse for the wear than Hanzou had previously suspected.

 

“Uh… Listen,” Hanzou says, soldiering onwards. “I want to help out NICS any way I can, y’know? So I was thinking at the very least I could give them some intel about the whole… kidnapping thing. But… I don’t exactly… remember?”

 

Sendou seems to stiffen, then, his fingers curling into a fist at his side.

 

“I remember we were together,” he continues. “We were at the park, right? And it was like… midnight? But honestly, I have no goddamn clue what we were doing there. Was there gonna be a fight or something? Maybe we were finally gonna take out those second year punks from Shuhoku…? I really have no idea. Do you?”

 

Sendou is quiet for a long moment. And then he turns to Hanzou with a sardonic smile, like he’s about to laugh at some sad, unspoken joke.

 

“No,” he says, his voice clipped. “I don’t remember any more than you do.”

 

He abruptly pushes himself to his feet and shoves his hands in his pockets, walking away before Hanzou can question him any further. Confused, Hanzou stares after him until he turns the corner and is gone.

 

.

 

.

 

He’s in no mood to return to school, but on his third day of lounging around the house playing video games his old man snaps.

 

“You already missed a fucking week while you were off doing god-knows-what,” he growls, grabbing Hanzou by the collar and hauling him to his feet. “And don’t even try and give me that ‘I was kidnapped’ story again. For the last time: I’m not gonna buy it. Just go to class, dumbass. You’re gonna get expelled if you keep this shit up.”

 

“… So what?” Hanzou mutters. He gets cuffed upside the head a second later.

 

“‘So what?’ ‘ _So what?_ ’ You’re an idiot, is what. If anyone needs schooling it’s you, and I’m gonna see you graduate if it’s the last thing I fucking do. So get your shit together and _go to school_ , before I drag you there myself!”

 

Hanzou huffs out a sigh.

 

Recognizing that he’s fighting a losing battle, he nods his agreement and grudgingly fishes his notebooks out from under the bed.

 

.

 

He sees Sendou in the hallway before homeroom.

 

Normally, when they meet at school, they’ll stop to talk for a brief moment. Sometimes they’ll make arrangements for an LBX battle at the model shop, and sometimes they’ll exchange a few harmless taunts, and sometimes Sendou will draw a tarot card and read Hanzou’s fortune for the day (usually something negative), and Hanzou will threaten to “tear up those shitty cards once and for all.” It’s a bit of a routine, really, one that Hanzou has come to expect and perhaps even enjoy.

 

Today, Sendou passes him by without a word.

 

“Oi,” he says, spinning around to glare at Sendou’s back. “Are you ignoring me??”

 

No response. Just cold, empty silence. Hanzou frowns, irritation prickling at his skin. It’s been three days – more than enough time for Sendou to get his act together. And yet here he is, still just as perplexingly distant as he was outside the hospital.

 

Hanzou goes to class and stares at the coursework in front of him, unable to concentrate, the lines blurring together before his eyes.

 

.

 

.

 

The roof of the school is forbidden to students, and thus is the perfect place to go looking for Sendou during free period. Sure enough, he’s there, sitting up against the rickety old railing with a cigarette between his lips. When he sees Hanzou he scowls, exhaling a haze of smoke that curls softly around him.

 

“You do realize I come up here to _avoid_ idiots, right?”

 

Hanzou laughs, the oppressive tension in his shoulders lessening just a bit. It’s good, to hear Sendou speaking normally again.

 

“You do realize smoking is bad for your health, right?” He reaches out and plucks the cigarette from Sendou’s mouth. “Haven’t you been paying attention in Health class?”

 

He takes a drag himself, the acrid taste settling on his tongue, feeling that familiar, pleasurable jolt when the smoke hits his lungs. Sendou’s eyes seem to linger on his mouth before flicking away.

 

“Haha, very funny,” Sendou says, baring his teeth in a smile that looks more like a grimace. “Did you come all the way up here just to see me? That’s adorable, Gouda.”

 

( _Yes, I came all the way up here just to see you, because I hate it when you ignore me and I’m not sure why._ )

 

“What? No fucking way,” Hanzou lies. “There’s this girl – Shiina, from the class next to yours, with the big tits? You know her. She’s seriously been _after_ me lately. Won’t leave me alone. I just want something casual but she’s been getting all clingy, y’know? I had to get away from her somehow.”

 

It’s not a _total_ fabrication. According to Nishizaki, Shiina’s got a thing for him. And it doesn’t seem like an innocent schoolgirl crush, either. Sometimes when they pass each other she looks him up and down with keen interest, smiling in that candid, inviting way that girls often do, painted nails bright as she plays with her hair. The attention is nice, he supposes, but also kind of… alarming, for reasons he can’t quite put into words.

 

“What do you think, Sendou?” He forces himself to grin; keeping on with this dumb story he’s invented. “Should I play around with her some more or just drop her?”

 

When he glances over, Sendou’s expression is indescribable. He looks almost _hurt_ , if such a thing were possible, his eyes tender and the line of his jaw set with anger.

 

“You think I give a shit what you do with your little sex friend?” he says, spitting his words like they’re poison. He gets to his feet, snatching the cigarette from Hanzou’s hand and tossing it down, grinding it beneath the heel of his shoe. “Fuck off, Gouda. Go find someone else to hassle. I’m not in the mood.”

 

He stalks away, and Hanzou realizes that this is the third time in less than a week that he’s found himself staring at Sendou’s retreating figure.

 

Must be some kind of record.

 

.

 

.

 

Sendou isn’t in school the next morning.

 

Typically Hanzou wouldn’t be bothered – it seems like Sendou plays hooky more often than he actually attends class, his truancy record known throughout the student body as a thing of legend.

 

But today… Today is different. He can’t explain it, but Hanzou has a bad feeling gnawing at the pit of his stomach, setting him on edge. Something is just _wrong_ in the air today, and when he tells the Devas as much they exchange a bewildered glance.

 

“Feels okay to me, Leader,” Rico says. “Maybe you didn’t get enough sleep last night.”

 

“Maybe you’re just hungry,” Tetsuo offers. “Sometimes I get that way when I don’t eat for a while.”

 

“No,” he sighs, and scrubs a hand across his face. His fingers are drumming restlessly against his thigh. “No, just – just keep an eye out, will you?” _I’m worried about Sendou,_ he almost says, but catches himself in time. “Be on your guard. You know my hunches turn out right sometimes.”

 

“It’s true,” Kinji says, nodding sagely. “Remember last year, when we got jumped by those assholes from Oshima Middle? He said almost the same thing that day.”

 

“Wow,” Tetsuo whispers. “Yeah, I do remember that! You’re amazing, Leader.”

 

At this, Hanzou has to swallow down a bitter laugh.

 

He’s felt anything _but_ amazing since he woke up in Canberra.

 

.

 

.

 

It’s late in the evening and he’s restless, so he yells to his old man that he’s going out for a bit.

 

“You better come back this time, you little shit,” his dad shouts from the kitchen. “Pull another disappearing act and I’ll kill you, you got that?”

 

“Yeah, yeah,” he mutters, and shoulders his way out the door.

 

He walks without thinking, not noticing where his steps are taking him til the sound of the river reaches his ears. No one’s around at this time of night. The fluorescent floodlamps of the Kasegawa Bridge reflect off the dark water. He and the Devas used to loiter around under the bridge back in their first year of middle school, roughing up any kid who tried to take their turf. They’d even spray-painted their names on the concrete. (That graffiti is long gone, he knows, whitewashed over in the Misora Town Restoration Project. But it still makes him smile to think of it.)

 

His feet find familiar grooves on the slope as he descends the hill and ducks under the bridge. Just like old times.

 

… Except someone else is there with him.

 

“Oh, wonderful,” a familiar voice drawls. “It’s you. And here I was thinking that this day could not _possibly_ get any better.”

 

“… Sendou?”

 

Hanzou’s eyes gradually adjust to the dim light. Sendou is sitting against the wall – propping himself up, more like – his posture awkward, one hand clutching his side. Hanzou crouches down next to him and damn near recoils in shock at the sight of his face. His lip is busted, nose dripping blood, left eye ringed with purple from a shiner that’ll be infinitely worse tomorrow morning. His cheek is scraped raw and bloody, probably from being shoved up against a rough surface.

 

“Holy shit,” Hanzou breathes. “What _happened_ to you?”

 

“What the fuck do you think, imbecile?” Sendou rolls his eyes. “I lost a fight.”

 

“But… you never lose fights.”

 

“Yeah, well it was five against one. Not much chance of success there, even for me.”

 

“What the – _five_ against one? Did you do something to piss them off?” He rocks back on his heels, then, staring at Sendou in disbelief. “Wait, did you… Don’t tell me you went _looking_ for trouble. Did you purposefully provoke them??”

 

Sendou merely smiles and raises an eyebrow.

 

“Oh my god.” Hanzou massages his temples tiredly. “You are fucking insane.”

 

“Oh please, Gouda,” Sendou mutters. “Spare me the hand-wringing. You of all people are in no position to criticize. I was just in the mood for a fight, and unfortunately things got a little more… _heated_ than I had originally planned. Apparently I extorted their friend out of 10,000 yen a couple months back.” He shrugs and waves a hand dismissively. “I have no recollection of it, but it certainly sounds like something I would do.”

 

Hanzou hangs his head and sighs. Between the two of them, Sendou is supposed to be the intelligent one. He’s the one who plans ahead, the one who waits and watches and always strikes at exactly the right moment. It’s rare, for him to slip up so badly. And seeing him like this, it’s just – it’s all wrong. Something inside him twists painfully whenever he looks at Sendou’s pale, bloodied face.

 

“… How long have you been sitting here?” he asks.

 

“Only a few minutes,” Sendou says with a ‘hmph.’ “I just came down here to rest for a little while. And yes, I can make it back by myself, so don’t even think about asking. Nothing’s broken. Just… bruised.”

 

“Well I can’t just fucking leave you here,” Hanzou says, frustration making his voice waver precariously. “Come on, get up. I’m personally escorting you home. No complaints.”

 

“Goodness, what an honor,” Sendou murmurs. He braces himself on the wall and slowly gets to his feet, wincing only once, and even then it is almost imperceptible. He straightens up, trying valiantly not to let the pain show on his face, and takes a few shaky steps only to pitch forward. Hanzou loops an arm around his waist and catches him just in time.

 

“Shit, man,” he sighs. “Just admit it: you need help. It’s not that hard.”

 

For a moment Sendou says nothing, his hands gripping Hanzou’s arm like a vice. He sways on his feet and leans into him, hair brushing lightly against his neck, and Hanzou shivers despite how warm the night air is.

 

“Fine,” Sendou says, pushing away, and Hanzou promptly snaps back to reality. “Lend me your shoulder. But if you try to carry me I will not hesitate to break your fingers.”

 

His glare is strong enough to wilt flowers, and Hanzou shakes his head exasperatedly.

 

“Duly noted.”

 

.

 

.

 

“You live here?”

 

“Yeah. What of it?”

 

“I just… I didn’t know you were _rich_ , man.” Hanzou stares up in awe at the house in front of them. Three stories, painted a pristine light blue, with a balcony on the upper floor and a small but perfectly-pruned garden out front. Immaculate is the word for it. Not a single blade of grass out of place. “It’s fuckin’ huge! I could probably fit like twelve of my shitty apartment in there.”

 

“Whatever,” Sendou mutters. He presses a key into Hanzou’s palm. “Just open the damn door, will you?”

 

Hanzou does as told. “Hello,” he calls, into the oddly dark interior. “Sorry for the intrusion!”

 

“No one’s home, dumbass.” Sendou brushes past him, kicking his shoes off and flipping on the lights. He walks into the living room and makes a beeline for the couch, sinking down on to it with a pained groan. Hanzou stands there in the entranceway for a long moment, sandals halfway off his feet, unsure of what he just heard.

 

“Wait, no one – _no one’s home_? Are you shitting me? What am I supposed to do? Leave you here alone as you bleed all over the damn place??”

 

Sendou cranes his neck and gives him a skeptical look.

 

“What, you want to take care of me or something? That’s precious, Gouda. I never knew you cared so much.”

 

“No,” he says quickly. His face feels hot. “I just… I just can’t leave an injured person on their own. There’s probably like, a law against that. Reckless endangerment or neglect or something.”

 

Sendou stares at him blankly. “A _law_ ,” he echoes.

 

“Well yeah, I mean, maybe not an actual law but – ”

 

“God you’re an idiot.” He’s trying to sound derisive but instead he just sounds tired. “There’s a first aid kit in the closet down the hall. Go fetch that for me if you’re so keen on helping.”

 

Hanzou doesn’t know what to do other than comply.

 

As he collects the first aid kit from the closet, he thinks that this place is odd. At first glance it’s a lovely house – lace curtains on the windows and real wooden floors and framed paintings of flowers on the walls. And yet it doesn’t just feel empty; it feels _uninhabited_ , the air pressing close, choking him, lying heavy on his skin. He’s wearing slippers, but still his footsteps echo loudly through the halls. Every surface he touches is covered in a thin layer of dust.

 

It’s a nice house, but it certainly doesn’t seem like anyone’s home.

 

He returns and sets the first aid kit down next to Sendou. He’d grabbed a towel from the closet as well, stopping to wet it in the bathroom, and Sendou takes it from him with a perplexed look.

 

“You’ve got blood all over you, man,” Hanzou says gruffly. “It’s kinda starting to gross me out.”

 

Sendou rolls his eyes but presses his face into the towel anyhow. It comes away stained with red. Hanzou notices Sendou’s hands, then – skin split open at the knuckles, the raw flesh beneath already looking somewhat inflamed.

 

“Did you seriously try and fight back?”

 

Sendou follows his gaze and smirks. “What do you take me for? Of course I fucking did. Landed a few good hits, too, before they got me cornered. I _do_ have a reputation to uphold, Gouda. I’m not about to lie down and let them hit me just because I’m outnumbered.”

 

 _Maybe that would’ve been smarter,_ says a voice in the back of Hanzou’s mind. It startles him; he doesn’t know where such a cowardly thought came from. If he were ever cornered and outnumbered, he’d go down swinging too. So then why? Why would he think something like that? (Seeing Sendou like this has made him strange. He feels cautious and tense, his usual recklessness buried beneath nameless worries.)

 

“I suppose I should probably wash them,” Sendou murmurs, staring at his bloodied knuckles thoughtfully. “Infections can be such a bitch.”

 

“Here,” Hanzou says. He rummages around in the first aid kit and pulls out a bottle of saline. “Hold out your hands.”

 

Sendou raises an eyebrow. “Really? You’re going to do it for me?”

 

Hanzou grits his teeth, a flush of embarrassment burning the back of his neck. “Just _hold out your hands_ , dammit.”

 

Sendou does so with a faint, mocking laugh. His palm is rough and warm against Hanzou’s own as he holds his hand in place, pouring the saline over the wounds, flushing out the remnants of dirt and dried blood. Hanzou tries not to think about Sendou’s fingertips brushing lightly against the inside of his wrist, just above his pulse. Every time it happens he feels an almost electric jolt lacing up his arm. Maybe he shouldn’t have offered to do this.

 

“… You want to know a secret, Gouda?”

 

“What?” he says, turning his attention to Sendou’s other hand.

 

“Outside the hospital… you asked me if I remembered the night we were taken. And I said no.” Sendou pauses. The room falls silent for a moment. And then, suddenly, his fingers curl around Hanzou’s wrists, holding him in place with almost bruising force. “That was a lie.”

 

Hanzou swallows hard. He lifts his eyes slowly. Sendou is still smiling, but there is a bitter, dangerous edge to it.

 

“I remember that night perfectly,” he says. He leans forward, pressing Hanzou back into the couch cushions. “You got the basics right, you know. I suppose I should commend you for that. We _were_ waiting for those punks from Shuhoku. We were gonna settle the score once and for all. But hey, surprise surprise, those cowards pussied out and never showed.”

 

In one swift movement he’s straddling Hanzou’s lap, hands still gripping his wrists tightly. His face is close – close enough to see the mottled colours of his bruises and the cold glint in his eyes.

 

“What are you doing?” Hanzou murmurs. His voice trembles, just a bit. His pulse is racing, and he wonders if Sendou can feel it beneath his fingers.

 

Sendou ignores him. “It honestly seemed like the night would be a waste. Until an interesting idea came to me. Maybe it was the perfect time to test out a little… _hypothesis_ of mine. All of the signals were pointing to a favorable outcome, after all. So… I did this.”

 

Sendou tilts his head and presses their lips together.

 

Seconds tick past. Hanzou sits there, shellshocked, until the reality of the situation hits him like slap in the face. He tries to twist away, panic thrumming through his veins, but Sendou has him at a disadvantage. He may be injured, but he’s got anger on his side, if his nails digging into Hanzou’s skin are any indication. The kiss becomes heated and demanding, and Hanzou can taste blood from Sendou’s split lip.

 

“Just like that,” Sendou murmurs, breaking away. He licks away the blood staining his mouth and laughs softly. “And you know what you did, Gouda? You punched me in the jaw.” He releases his grip on Hanzou’s right wrist and reaches out, pressing the tips of his fingers to his jawline. “It hurt like a bitch, let me tell you. And you know… The last thing I remember seeing, before we were taken, was your face. You were looking at me with this expression of pure _horror_ , like being kissed was the worst thing to ever happen to you. It would’ve been funny if it weren’t so pathetic.”

 

Hanzou opens his mouth to say something, but no words come. He really did that? He doesn’t remember any of it – not the kiss, or the punch, or anything in between. The events of that night are still hazy and indistinct, little more than drops of water falling through the sieve of his mind.

 

“You’re a real piece of work, you know that?” Sendou says. His lip curls into a sneer. “Always following me around, getting all handsy, staring at me when you think I’m not looking. And then I take things one step further and you act like it’s the end of the goddamn world. What a fucking joke.”

 

He releases Hanzou’s other wrist and gets to his feet, shaking his head in disgust.

 

“I’m going to go take a long, long shower,” he says. “If you’re still here when I’m done, I will personally kick your ass out the door. Have a nice night, _Hanzou-kun_.”

 

And at that, he turns on his heel and disappears down the hall.

 

Hanzou stares after him, uncertain of what just happened. He lifts a hand and touches his lips, still warm from where Sendou kissed him, and lets out a shaky breath. This… is utterly absurd. This has got to be a dream or a hallucination or a delusion of his stressed, recently-brainwashed mind.

 

And yet.

 

And yet he thinks of the past few days – Sendou’s aloof irritation outside the hospital, his pained expression on the roof of the school, the fight he jumped into seemingly without thinking – and suddenly it all makes sense, like pieces of a puzzle falling into place.

 

Sendou likes him. In _that_ way.

 

“Fuck,” he mutters. Heat rises into his cheeks. He presses the heels of his hands to his eyes and lets his head fall back, hitting the hard part of the couch with a painful _thump_. This is all way too much to think about. He needs a distraction, anything to get his mind out of the (rather alarming) place it’s headed towards, and receives one a moment later when his CCM beeps loudly. He jumps, nearly the dropping the thing as he scrambles to grab it from his pocket. He presses the Accept button and his old man’s face appears on-screen, looking annoyed-on-the-verge-of-livid.

 

“Oi, where the hell are you?? You’ve been gone for three fucking hours! ‘Going out for a bit,’ my ass. ‘A bit’ is thirty minutes tops.”

 

“… Are you calling to check up on me?”

 

His old man scowls. “In your dreams, dumbass. I’m just trying to save myself a headache. If you up and vanished again I’d probably have to get the cops involved. And you know I hate cops.”

 

“Right, of course,” Hanzou says. “Sorry for making you worry, _mom_.”

 

“Shaddup, brat! Just tell me where the fuck you are.”

 

“I’m, uh…” Hanzou glances around, a tight feeling in his throat. Sendou told him to leave but he can’t, not like this, not with so much awkwardness and frustration between them. He’s used to fighting with Sendou, but there has always been a mutual understanding buried beneath their harsh words – the knowledge that neither of them really _meant_ any of the things they said. It was all just part of their stupid little rivalry.

 

This, though… This is something entirely different.

 

“I’m staying over at a friend’s house,” he says finally. “I’ll be home like… noon tomorrow, probably.”

 

His old man looks at him skeptically, and then little by little a sly smile spreads across his face.

 

“Oh, I get it,” he says.

 

“…What?”

 

“C’mon, kid. I’m not an idiot, and I wasn’t born yesterday. I know what ‘staying over at a friend’s house’ really means. You don’t have to lie to me about that shit. I’m proud of you, actually. ‘Bout time you started showing interest in the _finer_ things in life. But just remember, Hanzou: use protection!”

 

His uproarious laughter is cut off as he ends the call.

 

Hanzou stares at the blank CCM screen. His fingers tighten around it, trying to resist the urge to hurl the thing against the wall. The flush he felt earlier is back with a vengeance, hot on his face and neck.

 

Stupid old man.

 

.

 

There are photographs on the mantle above the fireplace. Family portraits with silver frames. Hanzou feels weird looking at them, like a voyeur or something, but they’re right _there_. If they didn’t want people to see them, why would they be displayed out in the open?

 

The photo on the far left shows four people. An austere, well-dressed man and a beautiful woman with sharp eyes – Sendou’s parents, he assumes – and two children. Sendou can’t be more than seven in the picture. He’s almost _cute_ , wearing a tiny little suit and a broad smile. There’s a toddler sitting on his lap. A girl, Hanzou assumes, though it’s hard to tell with kids that young. Sendou has his arms around her, hugging her close, her chubby fingers curled around his.

 

The next few photos are similar. In each one, Sendou and his sister get a little older. But they are still holding hands.

 

Until suddenly Sendou isn’t in the pictures anymore.

 

Hanzou frowns and leans in close, searching for him. He’s not off to the sides, or hidden in the background. He’s just… gone. The girl’s smiles no longer reach her eyes, either. She looks about eight, and she stares at the camera impassively, her posture tense and rigid. Her mother’s hand is on her shoulder, but it doesn’t seem like a comforting touch. It looks possessive. Controlling. The woman’s long nails almost resemble claws.

 

Sendou isn’t in the next picture, or the next. Even in the most recent photo he is still conspicuously absent, and Hanzou wonders:

 

Did he start refusing them? Renouncing family portraits as step one of his teenage rebellion?

 

Or did _they_ refuse _him_?

 

He shakes his head as if to dispel such thoughts and continues his exploration of the house, peering cautiously into the next room. The kitchen. It’s top-of-the-line, of course, all marble countertops and smooth stone floors and stainless steel appliances. But even so it is much the same as the other rooms – dusty with disuse, without any traces of the people who supposedly live here. He opens the refrigerator and grimaces. There’s not even any food. Fuck, this place is depressing.

 

Well, okay, there are a few meager ingredients lying around. There’s a carton of eggs due to expire tomorrow, and some sad-looking vegetables in the crisper, and a half-empty bag of rice in the cupboard. He stares at the paltry line-up and nods to himself, deciding on omurice. Not like there are many other options. He wipes the dust off the stovetop and gets to work.

 

(Food isn’t much of an apology, he supposes, but it’s a start. He’s always hungry after a fight, especially when he loses. He assumes that Sendou must be the same.)

 

He’s just about finished when he hears a weary sigh from behind him.

 

“So not only are you still here, but you’re making a mess of my kitchen? Delightful.”

 

He turns to find Sendou leaning against the doorframe, naked except for a pair of boxers riding low on his hips. Hanzou nearly drops the jar of spices he’s holding.

 

“You just, uh… You lost some blood,” he says lamely, trying and failing to avert his eyes. Sendou’s hair is wet and soft-looking, sticking up a bit in the back. There’s a massive bruise on his side, dark purple already fading into sickly yellow-green, curving all the way from his ribcage to his hipbone. “Thought you should have some food. To get your strength back, I mean. Why is there nothing to eat in this place?”

 

Sendou shrugs. “I can’t cook worth a damn,” he says, sliding on to one of the stools at the island. “I usually just get stuff from the convenience store. Way easier.”

 

“… Seriously? That may be the saddest thing I’ve ever heard.”

 

“Well now I’ve got Little Miss Housewife here to cook for me,” Sendou says with a smirk. A drop of water glides down his neck and settles in the hollow of his throat. “I had no idea you were so domestic, Gouda. I think there might be a frilly pink apron around here somewhere, if you’re interested in wearing it.”

 

“Piss off,” Hanzou mutters. He cuts the omurice in two and slides the slightly bigger half over towards Sendou. “Just eat your food, dammit.”

 

Sendou rolls his eyes but does as told. He takes a bite and makes a face.

 

“This is fucking awful,” he says.

 

“… And yet you continue to eat it.”

 

“Yeah, well. Hunger is a harsh mistress.”

 

Hanzou lowers his eyes and smiles. He was worried that things would be uncomfortable between them, but this seems about par for the course. Maybe nothing has to change after all. Feeling emboldened, he says:

 

“I didn’t know you had a sister.”

 

Sendou pauses mid-bite. His eyes narrow, and Hanzou knows immediately that it was the wrong choice of topic.

 

“You wouldn’t,” he says curtly. “She’s not around much.”

 

“…Oh,” Hanzou says. “I see.”

 

An awkward quiet falls over them, and then Sendou lets out an irritated huff, stabbing at his food angrily.

 

“She’s away at this fancy-ass boarding school for rich kids,” he mutters. “It’s her last year of elementary, and after this she’s going to _another_ shitty boarding school. Probably another one after that, for all I fucking know. Anything to keep her away from home.” He smiles, then, sullen and resentful. “Apparently I’m a _bad influence_.”

 

Hanzou doesn’t know what to say to that. If it were any other person he’d offer his condolences, but he knows Sendou doesn’t want to hear that shit. Even a nonchalant “sorry your parents are such assholes” seems far too sentimental, and so he merely looks away and keeps his mouth shut. They sit there in silence until Sendou sighs, running a hand through his hair tiredly.

 

“You want to get drunk?” he says, out of the blue.

 

Hanzou blinks at him. “Get… drunk?”

 

“Mmhmm. There may not be any food in this house, but there’s a fuckton of alcohol. You interested?”

 

Hanzou hesitates for a moment, an uncharacteristic apprehension twisting his stomach into knots.

 

“Yeah,” he says finally. “Yeah, let’s get wasted.”

 

.

 

He’s really beginning to wish that he’d inherited his old man’s superhuman tolerance for booze. His mind is already fading fast, a tired feeling tugging at his eyelids, his thoughts muddled and difficult to grasp. His entire body is buzzing with a pleasant warmth.

 

Sendou passes him the bottle and he stares at it thoughtfully for several seconds before his hand remembers to reach out and take it.

 

“Are you already drunk?” Sendou asks, incredulous.

 

“What? No fucking way,” he says, his voice far too loud. “Just… tipsy, maybe?”

 

“Oh god,” Sendou mutters. “If I’d known you’d be such a lightweight I wouldn’t have even offered.”

 

Hanzou laughs and takes another swig. The mouth of the bottle is still warm from Sendou’s lips. _Indirect kiss_ , supplies an oh-so-helpful voice in the back of his mind, and oh fuck now he can’t stop thinking about Sendou’s mouth. Wonderful.

 

He turns to look at Sendou, who seems to be purposefully avoiding his gaze. He’s glaring at the television screen where some cheap late-night news broadcast is airing. In the neon glow of the tv his injuries look all the more painful, the bloodied scrape of his cheek turned a violent shade.

 

“You should – you should put something on that,” he says, nodding solemnly. The first aid kit is still sitting on the coffee table, and he rummages around inside it until he finds a bandage. He peels it open and reaches over, frowning in concentration as he presses it on to Sendou’s face. Sendou scowls and makes a move like he’s about to swat his hands away, but seems to lose motivation halfway through, his eyes softening.

 

Hanzou isn’t sure what comes over him, then. His fingertips brush along the length of Sendou’s jaw, and his hand comes to rest on the back of Sendou’s neck, and suddenly he is leaning forward and kissing him. Sendou responds instantly, lips moving against his, grabbing Hanzou by the shirt and pulling him even closer. Hanzou runs a hand down Sendou’s chest and the flat plane of his stomach, fingers gently tracing the outlines of his bruises, and Sendou moans into his mouth.

 

And then, without warning, he is being pushed away.

 

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Sendou hisses. He’s breathing hard, his eyes glassy.

 

Hanzou doesn’t know what to say, because he has no idea what he’s doing. He’s on the verge of drunk, confused and frustrated and completely out of his depth. In lieu of an answer he wraps his arms around Sendou and buries his face in his neck. He smells like mint and something heady that Hanzou can’t quite place. They stay like this for a time, listening to each other breathe, until the tension in Sendou’s body begins to slowly unwind.

 

“’M sorry,” Hanzou murmurs. “For punching you. I don’t remember doing it. Which is… probably the worst part, to be honest. ‘Cause there must’ve been a reason, y’know? Maybe… Maybe I thought you were screwing with me. Or maybe I just freaked out and reacted like a dumbass ‘cause I was nervous. I just… I don’t know, man. But I wasn’t _horrified_ or anything like that. I swear I wasn’t. ‘Cause I – to you, I, uh – ”

 

“God, just shut the fuck up already,” Sendou growls. Contrary to his tone, his hands are gentle as they come to rest on Hanzou’s back. “You sound like a complete and utter moron.”

 

Hanzou laughs weakly. “Yeah, that’s… pretty much what I feel like right now.” He releases his hold on Sendou and pulls away, sitting back with a sigh. He reaches for the bottle of booze but Sendou grabs it from his hand before he can take another sip.

 

“How about no?” he says, shaking his head. “I’m putting this shit away. If _this_ is you ‘tipsy’ then I don’t even want to risk it.”

 

He gets to his feet, but Hanzou catches him by the wrist before he can walk away.

 

“Wait,” he says. “Just let me… let me propose something real quick, okay?”

 

“What?” Sendou sighs.

 

“We should go out.”

 

Sendou levels him with a blank stare. “Go out,” he repeats slowly.

 

“Yeah, I mean like… dating. You and me.”

 

Sendou’s deadpan expression doesn’t change.

 

“C’mon, it makes so much sense,” Hanzou says. He flashes a winning smile. “It could be fun. I mean… I don’t really know what people do when they date? I know they go to the movies and go out to eat and shit like that, which doesn’t really seem like our kind of thing but, uh… Well. You know what I mean. We’re just good together, y’know? Except sometimes I can’t stand you, but even then I still really like you? I don’t know how to describe it. You feel me though, right? Like a love-hate sort of thing – ”

 

Sendou tugs his arm away.

 

“Please,” he groans, pinching the bridge of his nose. “ _Please_ stop talking. If you say another word I swear to god I will punch you in the throat.”

 

As he turns towards the kitchen Hanzou hears him muttering to himself:

 

“Fuck, this day has been nothing but mistakes.”

 

.

 

.

 

When he wakes the next morning there is a haze hanging over his thoughts, an unpleasant taste in his mouth, and something far less comfortable than a pillow beneath his cheek. Upon closer inspection it appears to be Sendou’s lap. Fabulous. (On the bright side, he’s wearing pants now. That, at least, makes things a little less awkward.)

 

Hanzou blinks blearily up at Sendou, who – strangely enough – seems to have accepted his fate. He’s sitting back, staring at the television screen with vague interest. The bandage from last night is still plastered to his cheek.

 

And his fingers are curled absently in Hanzou’s hair.

 

“Um.”

 

Sendou jumps, pulling his hand away like he’s been scalded. “Shit,” he hisses, his face turning a delicate shade of pink. “How long have you been awake??”

 

“Uh, just for like a minute now I guess – ”

 

Sendou pushes himself off the couch, and Hanzou nearly topples to the floor.

 

“My legs were falling asleep,” he says. “Do you have any idea how long I was trapped there? Fucking deadweight is what you are.”

 

Hanzou yawns and rubs the sleep from his eyes. “You know,” he says, “you could’ve just shoved me off.”

 

Sendou averts his gaze with a ‘hmph’ and says nothing.

 

“Well damn, I’m sincerely sorry for traumatizing you so deeply,” Hanzou laughs. He gets to his feet and stretches his arms over his head. “I’d offer to make breakfast as an apology, but… Pretty sure there’s no ingredients left.”

 

“Oh please. As if I’d want to eat anything else made by you. I’ll just go pick something up in a bit.”

 

Hanzou promptly walks over and takes Sendou’s face in his hands, leaning in close. Sendou makes a small, startled noise but doesn’t try to pull away.

 

“What, you’re gonna go out looking like this?” Hanzou raises an eyebrow. “You’d scare the shit out of everyone.”

 

He was right about Sendou’s black eye – it’s much worse today, swollen and painful-looking, blood-red fading into angry purple-black. His other bruises are more vivid, too. He presses his thumb to one of them and Sendou shudders beneath him.

 

“I’ll go,” he says. “And I’ll get some actual food, not that convenience store crap. Fuck, I can’t believe you live off that stuff.

 

“First things first, though… I really need to take a shower or a bath or _something_. And maybe borrow some clothes afterwards? You mind? ‘Cause… looking at it now, I think that might be your blood all over my shirt.”

 

“Whatever,” Sendou says, pushing him away. “Upstairs on the left. Knock yourself out.”

 

“Thanks, man.” Hanzou pauses, then, as several memories of the previous night come rushing back to him. He licks his lips nervously. “Hey, uh… I know I was kind of out of it last night, but… I meant what I said. About us going out. So just – just think about it? Maybe?”

 

A long silence stretches between them. Sendou scowls.

 

“You’re using my shower and wearing my clothes, dumbass. Not to mention cooking me breakfast. I’m not sure what there is left to think about.”

 

Hanzou blinks at him, taken aback for a moment, and then he begins to laugh.

 

“Yeah,” he says, grinning broadly. “Yeah, I guess you’re right.”


End file.
